


the shape of you

by NymboDerp (nymmiah)



Series: Haikyuu AUs [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Dysphoria, Gen, Gender Ambiguous Character, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of Death, Non-Graphic Violence, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12114420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymmiah/pseuds/NymboDerp
Summary: The world has never been kind to mutants who refuse to obey.In which Oikawa isn’t quite Mystique and Kuroo doesn’t manage to fit the role of Xavier.





	the shape of you

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short, Oikawa's a shapeshifter who doesn't have a "default" face.  
> Kuroo is a telepath who can't be blocked out, only evaded and distracted.

Kuroo had always known this: Oikawa was lost.

Since the first day they met, when Oikawa’s eyes had met his own and shifted to the same shade of dull onyx of Kuroo’s eyes and Kuroo had opened his mouth to voice the thoughts in Oikawa’s mind, he knew that Oikawa was adrift on a sea with no direction.

The fickle, ever-changing features of Oikawa’s face, adapting with every overheard comment, every stray emotion that Oikawa perceived, in order to become someone that Oikawa thought would be  _ perfect _ .

The hypermasculine cut of Oikawa’s jaw would smooth into something far more effeminate; the thin line of their lips would thicken into a cupid’s bow--their eyelashes would multiply, then lessen, then darken, then lighten, depending on the words that they heard that day.

There was nothing stable about Oikawa’s appearance.

There was nothing tying Oikawa down to a single identity. They were adrift on a sea of ever-changing identities, unable to find a face that was uniquely their own.

He could see that it was killing Oikawa from inside.

He could  _ hear _ that it was killing Oikawa from inside.

He could hear the anguished, repressed thoughts that bubbled up from deep within Oikawa’s mind that would whisper of their misery, of their dysphoria in a world of people who had concrete identities and concrete faces.

No matter how hard Oikawa tried to block out thoughts from being projected, Kuroo always seemed to be able to get past their barriers and tease out the locked, innermost thoughts that Oikawa had.

It was one of the reasons why Oikawa avoided him so much. For a person who didn’t have an identity, Oikawa’s mind was the only thing that could truly be unique to themselves. It was a sacred place to Oikawa, sacrosanct and forbidden territory.

It was a place that Kuroo breached, day after day, curious despite himself because Oikawa was lost, and they were so utterly  _ miserable _ .

* * *

Oikawa had always been terrified of mindreaders. Telepaths, as the school called them.

They were an unstoppable force, unable to be truly blocked out unless one’s willpower could overpower the telepath’s. Oikawa’s will was formidable, but Oikawa’s will inevitably shook when confronted with mindreaders.

They could read every thought that one would have. They could find out the most private of desires and hopes and dreams, rip out every secret that one could have--and should they become powerful enough,  _ strip _ one of everything that made up who they were.

Kuroo knew all of this, had known all of these thoughts from the moment Oikawa had realised what he was.

Oikawa had been appointed Kuroo’s guide for the week when Kuroo had been new to the academy, freshly awoken to his powers. Oikawa had wondered what class Kuroo had next, and when Kuroo had offhandedly mentioned that they had history next, and then lunch after that, not realising that Oikawa hadn’t spoken aloud--Oikawa’s face had twisted in fury, spitting out cruel words that attempted to mask the fear that lurked behind that perfectly constructed mask that they wore.

Back then, Kuroo had been young.

Young, foolish, and headstrong. Stubborn in the worst of ways.

He’d been hurt by Oikawa’s fear and anger, hurt that someone could think of the worst of him in such a way, and he’d been cruel right back.

Spilled out all and every single one of Oikawa’s secret fears to the open air of the hallway, where others could witness Oikawa being unravelled and torn apart for all to see. It was a public vivisection that ended violently.

It was this that drove them apart within hours of their acquaintanceship.

* * *

Kuroo was unsure how their cruel beginnings ever came to this:

Oikawa had become object of his obsessive thoughts, crawling into his mind every night to remind him of the misery locked behind the ever-changing canvas of human perfection. Oikawa was someone whom he should dislike, someone whom he should rightfully be wary of, considering their sheer lack of  _ belief _ in anyone or anything, yet Kuroo found himself so utterly fixated with them.

Kuroo’s dreams were Oikawa’s dreams:

The instability of Oikawa’s face echoed in the instability of Oikawa’s dreams; darkness upon lightness, hues and shades every changing apart from the space around Kuroo. Faces come and gone too fast in a facsimile of Oikawa’s eternal pursuit for their own identity. Kuroo was the single point of lack of change; a focal point of golds and blacks and reds that threatened to sweep the river of colours aside.

There was truth in Oikawa’s hissed words:

Kuroo was invading Oikawa’s life, situating himself within their mind and core and their life. Or maybe it was the other way around: Oikawa was drawing Kuroo in, however unintentionally it may have been. Nevertheless, the truth was that Oikawa could barely escape when Kuroo was the only one who could truthfully say that he understood Oikawa. Oikawa craved that kind of understanding, for all that they rejected it so vehemently.

* * *

At the age of sixteen, Kuroo had been drafted into the accelerated programme alongside Oikawa and some other students.

Ushijima, a force augmenter whose aquiline eyes softened when they fell upon Oikawa. Bokuto, a photokinetic who could scatter,  _ shatter _ atoms with his fists. Shimizu, demonic in form but infinitely gentle with her scaled hands.

Their powers, the authorities had reasoned, were powerful enough that they deserved to be placed within a selective class of students who excelled at the  _ powers _ portion of academy.

Kuroo knew from their thoughts that they were intending on creating a group of superhumans who would fight for them. Rescue them from themselves.

They wanted selfish children to protect selfish adults.

They expected selfish children to train day in and day out to master their abilities.

And they expected that when selfish children graduated from the academy, they would immediately be drafted into a special unit within the military’s forces.

By the age of eighteen, Oikawa would be the first of them to escape, a fugitive who would hide themselves away out of fear, out of anger, out of disgust at what they tried to make them become.

Oikawa was the clearest, most prominent example of selfishness, the authorities would claim. Oikawa was a deviant, a  _ failure _ .

It was unfair of the authorities to place such responsibilities upon the shoulders of students.

It was unfair of them to place such responsibilities upon the shoulder of students who had no idea what they wanted to be, nevertheless  _ who _ they wanted to be.

* * *

In the years that came after they left, Oikawa would try to avoid Kuroo outside of the academy’s walls.

Kuroo would try to pursue Oikawa within his dreams, haunting them even years away from the academy.

* * *

“What  _ am _ I?”

Oikawa’s voice was anguished, pitch shifting from the sweet soprano of a child’s voice to the brusque, gravelly voice of an elder’s. Bi-toned, tri-toned, multi-chorded and reverberating like biblical seraphs’, yet weak in its fragility.

“Oikawa.”

The face in the mirror melted, features melding and mixing into a grotesque mockery of human appearance. It was almost Lovecraftian in nature, if it weren’t for the genuine fear that tinged Oikawa’s thoughts.

“Am I even that?”

“Do you want me to give you an honest response?” Kuroo asked, moving forward to meet Oikawa’s liquid eyes through the mirror.

Those eyes, momentarily morphing to match Kuroo’s onyx shade, blinked, before they dissipated back into molten, bubbling amorphism. It was far cry from the perfect that Oikawa always wore, day in and day out without fail. It was raw, so utterly  _ honest _ that Kuroo knew this to be a dream.

Oikawa was infinitely perfect outside of their dreams, so utterly scared of their own flaws.

As disconcerting as it was to interact with something vaguely human-shaped without any human features, Kuroo reached out to his side to place a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder.

It liquified under his touch, shrinking away from Kuroo’s touch. The only solid shape left on Oikawa were the clothes they had been wearing.

“You don’t need to be defined by anything other than what you are. You’re Oikawa. You’re just as human as the rest of us.” Kuroo stated quietly. “Do you want me to--show you who I know you are?”

* * *

The answer was a resounding

**“No.”**

* * *

Shimizu had been the next to escape, pulling Ushijima out with her.

Shimizu had never been meant for this kind of life: each mission they had been sent out on left her eyes duller, her shoulder slack in a defeat that Kuroo could taste whenever she brushed past him.

Ushijima followed her, because all the years they had spent together had forged ties between himself and her that all of the others couldn’t breach; forces so much more stronger than anything chemical.

Bokuto would recall their escape as pacifistic at first--refusing to fight, trying to be peaceful in leaving. He would say that it was only when they were forcibly restrained that they began to fight.

Force augmentation had already been terrifying on its own, but combining it with the spatial rends that Shimizu could cause left devastation in their wake.

Bokuto and Kuroo were all that were left after Shimizu and Ushijima had left their headquarters in ruins. Smoking pieces of rubble, burnt papers and photographs that could no longer be displayed proudly.

Walls were quickly reconstructed, walls of concrete, lead and men to isolate Bokuto and Kuroo from the rest of the world.

_ We can’t live like this anymore, _ Bokuto’s thoughts would trace silent words into Kuroo’s neck, a tattoo that sank into his skin and into his bones.  _ We need to leave before-- _

* * *

A spiked ring of metal and electricity was a shackle placed around his neck, pressing against the base of his skull where all and any neural impulses would be monitored. Anything outside of the margins they set would be noted.

Anything outside of the margins they set would alert them.

Kuroo had learned to monitor his own powers after the first few electrical shocks.

The shocks increased in intensity with each subsequent one. The next shock would destroy his nerves and leave him a paralytic.

It had been a delicate balance for him, to learn the limits of the shackle. To learn to stop the world’s thoughts and his own from overloading the fragile current that the shackle would send into his brain stem.

Bokuto had had his eyes replaced; it would be impossible for him to manipulate light when the authorities held the only means by which he could  _ see _ .

* * *

Even when subconscious, the shackle attempted to restrain his powers. Kuroo had learned to keep his dreams to himself.

Electricity arcing down his spine, shocking him awake, had left the other dreamer similarly jolted.

* * *

Kuroo encountered Oikawa by chance months after that.

He could hear their thoughts drifting among a crowd, could hear how their thoughts had immediately silenced when they caught sight of him.

And then he could hear how their breath caught at the sight of the shackle around his throat: a modernised version of a spiked neck brace, needles turned inwards, into Kuroo’s neck to pierce and to shock if he ever stepped out of line.

Their mind bloomed within the crowd, too shocked to be hidden.

He could hear how their eyes widened, and hear how they clasped at their own neck, choking in disgust at the sight.

Kuroo didn’t let himself look where Oikawa’s mind was--instead he looked straight ahead and told civilians to leave the area, his voice imbued with impulse and compulsion enough that even Oikawa would be forced to leave.

Kuroo didn’t want to know what Oikawa would sound like when they realised what Kuroo and Bokuto had become in the wake of their escape.

Kuroo could only close his eyes as Bokuto was unleashed--solid light flaying people alive, blistering them and scorching them to death.

* * *

Years passed by.

Bokuto’s black hair streaked with white, from stress, from terror, from pain. His powers had been drained from him in their last mission together.

Bokuto found himself under a new handler, who took him away from the military base and into the safe cocoon of a rehabilitation centre for birds. 

Bokuto would love it there, Kuroo knew.

Kuroo stayed within the facility.

* * *

And one day, Kuroo found himself strapped to a surgical bed, staring up into the harsh fluorescent light above.

Only a single doctor hovered above him, her eyes the only part of her visible. They were a limpid brown, soft and doe-like in roundness.

_ Stay quiet. We’re getting you out of here. _

Years of practice had been the only thing to stop his eyes from widening, from his heartbeat elevating.

The doctor brought a needle to his arm, puncturing his skin and injecting him with a clear fluid. Saline liquid, a placebo of an anaesthetic or sedative.

A stray thought-- _ get ready, Kuroo _ \--and the doctor carefully pried the shackle from his neck, careful to keep the spikes from splitting his skin open.

It was strange to feel liberation from such a heavy weight after so long.

Kuroo closed his eyes to the sound of guards bursting into the surgical room, of Oikawa bursting out of the doctor’s skin, and found himself smiling.

* * *

It was liberating to be able to  _ run _ .

Kuroo found himself laughing, cackling as he sped through the forest with Oikawa as his side and the military at their backs, chasing them down.

The pain of each laugh almost had him faltering, but Oikawa’s hand would grab him by the wrist, pull him along until he’d recovered.

Oikawa had long since learned how to hide, but Kuroo--he was still learning.

Oikawa could shift into an animal, hide among the wildlife as a nonhuman being until they gave up the chase, but Kuroo had no such ability. He could only read minds, take control of them.

He could only wipe himself from people’s minds.

Stopping and spinning around, he ignored Oikawa’s curses.

Summoning up his power--he swamped the minds of the humans pursuing him, a miasma of unrestrained power that had grown from years of repression and fury.

It took barely a thought for him to crush their very beings. He destroyed every neural connection in their mind and left them sobbing, twitching messes on the floor.

Oikawa’s mind was alight with terror at the devastating show of power, but he could also hear a hidden thought that couldn’t quite bury itself away fast enough in their mind.

_ Good. _

* * *

When they came to a stop in a clearing within the forest, Kuroo sat himself down wearily upon a flat rock. Oikawa curled up on the floor by him, their face angled towards the rising moon.

“Why did you come back for me?” Kuroo asked aloud, a courtesy he realised he never offered Oikawa before.

_ No one else did. _ Oikawa replied, a courtesy that they had never offered Kuroo before.

Oikawa’s mind was slowly unfurling, a shy presentation of a mind that Kuroo had always invaded without permission. It was strange--to be able to see Oikawa opening themselves to him,  _ granting _ him access into their mind in a way that had never happened before.

They had a tentative smile on their face, and they reached out with a trembling hand. Kuroo felt their hand upon his cheek, and he sighed, leaning into the hesitant touch.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Oikawa whispered.

* * *

Kuroo and Oikawa avoided civilisation for months.

There was freedom to be found in the endless forests of Japan, the animal paths that wound up mountains and through abandoned villages. Kuroo delighted in being able to run where he willed, being able to rest when his feet tired.

And Oikawa indulged him.

They watched as Kuroo dove off cliffs into shallow pools of water, as he chased futilely after deer with laughter escaping his lungs.

While Oikawa had seemingly found solace in solitude and time away from humankind--and Kuroo found solace in Oikawa, who seemed unwilling to let him leave them.

Kuroo found solace in Oikawa, who, despite Kuroo’s cruelty towards him, was so ultimately  _ kind _ .

There was so much for Kuroo to make up for.

There was no need for him to forcefully enter Oikawa’s mind when Oikawa was open to him; there was no need for him to push his way into their dreams when they were sleeping side by side, shoulders touching.

The simple trust that Oikawa showed him despite his decade of disregard humbled Kuroo.

* * *

“Have you ever left Japan?”

Oikawa shook their head. “I’ve tried,” they stated. “I didn’t get far.”

Kuroo hummed, looking away.

* * *

Oikawa’s face was never stable when they were alone.

They changed their features upon a random whim, nose elongating or flattening, lips rising and falling, chin strengthening or weakening; their eyes changed hues like the seasons changed the trees’ leaves.

They seemed to find comfort in how Kuroo could meet their eyes and call them Oikawa, no matter how different they looked. No matter what kind of being they took the form of, Kuroo would approach them and call them by name.

* * *

“You  _ really _ don’t care, do you?”

Oikawa’s words were awed as they stared up at Kuroo, eyes wide with an emotion Kuroo hadn’t seen before upon their features.

“You really don’t care about the shape of me--you never  _ had _ . The only thing you’ve ever disliked about me was the fact that I didn’t want you in my mind. You were so used to being allowed into other people’s minds that the moment you met me, unwilling to be even close to you, made you feel hurt.”

Kuroo blinked down at Oikawa, unsure of what brought this on.

“This was years ago… but yes. That’s how it was for me, back then.” Kuroo said slowly. “It also hurt because I couldn’t stop being who I was, and you hated me for that.”

“I thought you hated me because I wasn’t  _ stable _ . That you wanted to make me know exactly how  _ abnormal _ I was, even in a school of  _ freaks _ .” Oikawa let out a small laugh, halfway between a sob.

Revelations bred revelations, and Oikawa had a sudden understanding of something they’d done nearly two decades ago.

An anguished, pained, “I’m sorry, Kuroo” escaped their lips.

Or was it their thoughts? There were days when they were so in tune with each other that it was hard to tell.

“I’m sorry too,” Kuroo murmured.

* * *

“There was a boy I knew once, called Iwaizumi.”

Kuroo had never heard of that name, not even in Oikawa’s dreams.

“Iwa-chan was my friend. My  _ best _ friend, and I knew him long before we ever even heard of the academy. He’d been the first outside of my family to find out about my abilities.” Oikawa’s voice was so tender as they spoke.

Kuroo wondered if Iwaizumi was still alive.

“We were four. He called me an alien when he caught sight of me changing my hair,” Oikawa added with a soft laugh. “But he also called me beautiful, telling me that my eyes looked like beetles. Brightly coloured beetles, like jewels. I don’t think he realised that back then--I was trying to be  _ anyone _ . But he made me want to  _ be _ this person he called Oikawa Tooru. I wanted to be what he called me: an alien, beautiful, Tooru. Any of the above. I changed myself for him, I did whatever I could to keep his eyes on me and to continue calling me beautiful. He moved away when we were twelve, and I never talked to him since.”

“Do you ever wonder where he is?”

“I’ve seen him. He’s happy, living in Tokyo with three lizards and a dog.” Oikawa admitted. “I think he’s getting married soon. He had a ring on his finger.”

“Do you wish you were--normal?” Kuroo asked quietly.

Oikawa paused. “... I used to.”

Kuroo reached out, gently brushing his fingers against their lips. “You’re beautiful, Oikawa.”

Oikawa’s lips curled into a smile. “Kuroo’s such a flatterer.”

There was a compulsion in the way Oikawa looked at him, and Kuroo found himself leaning in, transfixed by the beguiling look in Oikawa’s eyes. They were irresistible; Kuroo didn’t try to resist.

Their lips met and Kuroo could feel a part of himself crumble beneath the gentle pressure of Oikawa’s hand upon his chest.

* * *

Oikawa’s eyes seemed to have settled on a colour. It was something between amber and hot chocolate, maybe something like caramel and chocolate all in one.

It was the colour of warmth and sweetness, bursting like fireworks and stars, and Kuroo could taste those colours upon Oikawa’s lips when they kissed.

* * *

_ Do you like long hair? _

Kuroo glanced over at Oikawa, who was combing their fingers through their hair, playing with the length of the currently dark-brown strands.

A thought had them curling into ringlets, a cascade of dark curls down a deceptively frail back.

“Yes. But that doesn’t matter,” Kuroo responded a moment later. He walked over, pulling Oikawa’s hair together into a bunch. Twisting it gently and laying it off to the side, he exposed one side of Oikawa’s neck. “I like anything you do.”

Oikawa’s eyes met Kuroo’s through the mirror.

“You don’t need to change anything  _ for _ me. I want you however you want to be,” Kuroo murmured quietly, leaning in and pressing his lips against Oikawa’s shoulder. It twitched under his lips, seemingly melting away into something frailer, an effeminate curve.

A woman’s shoulder, pale and unmarked by freckles.

“I want to be what Kuroo wants,” Oikawa whispered.

There was dilemma written across their face in the shivering mass of features, threatening to change the moment Kuroo indicated something.

“You already are,” Kuroo admitted. “You’re what I want, Oikawa.”

Reaching to take hold of their chin, he had Oikawa turn to look at him. Their caramel-chocolate eyes were dilated, framed by thick, black lashes. He pressed a kiss upon their eyelids.

Leaning their foreheads together, he then said, “No matter  _ what _ you are, I know  _ who  _ you are. I can  _ always  _ find you, and I’ll  _ always  _ know it’s you.”

That had once been a point of conflict between them, but now, Oikawa found comfort in his words.

Letting out a soft sigh, Oikawa closed their eyes. Leaning back against Kuroo, he whispered a quiet, “Alright. What I want. Right?”

“Mmhm.” Kuroo pressed his lips to the crown of their hair. “I love you, every part of you.”

Oikawa’s breath hitched, and they shuddered. Their eyes filled with the precursor to tears.

_ I love you too. _

Even if their voice was a whisper in Kuroo’s mind, it didn’t diminish the sincerity of their words.

* * *

Oikawa’s form always changed when they were together.

The muscular form of a woman standing by him could shift into a frail form within a moment, and while Kuroo couldn’t quite say that he was  _ used _ to it--

He found himself enjoying the confidence in Oikawa’s face.

He found that he wanted to keep seeing Oikawa smiling so wide.

He found the way that their eyes would gleam, content in how Kuroo never shrank back from the ever-shifting forms, the way that he would unflinchingly support an elderly form that could, in barely a second, then turn into that of a feline’s, could make his heart beat a fierce tattoo in his chest.

It was almost like a test, really: Kuroo found himself pushed beyond the limits of what he was willing to hold, willing to embrace. There were lines that he had drawn when it came to intimacy, but Oikawa seemed to have concluded that long before Kuroo could voice it.

Sometimes, it felt as if Oikawa could hear his thoughts better than Kuroo ever could.

* * *

It was hard to remember that they were fugitives as they strolled through Tokyo’s busy streets, hand in hand.

It was hard to remember that Kuroo had ever had a life beyond his time with Oikawa.

Oikawa was tall, muscular but lithe, a wide-brimmed sunhat upon their head, grinning up at Kuroo with soda-reddened lips and a sparkle in their eye. Their hair was a fine mess of tousled waves, slick with sweat. Their other arm cradled a large bear that Kuroo’d won as a prize for them.

They were beautiful.

Smiling back at Oikawa, Kuroo leaned in, pressing their lips together.

“Let’s leave Japan,” he murmured softly.

There was a pause.

“Okay,” Oikawa breathed back, eyes alight with adventure. “Let’s leave, Kuroo--right now!” The grip upon his hand tightened, and Kuroo found himself laughing as he was pulled along by a person who seemed to grow stronger with each second that they pulled Kuroo along.

* * *

For all that Oikawa was lost, Kuroo found that he didn’t mind being lost with them, adrift at sea without a concrete idea to tie them down.


End file.
